


The  Boldest Man

by EasternViolet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasternViolet/pseuds/EasternViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just in acts of war that men need courage. Matters of the heart requires a measure of bravery as well. A Krem and Cullen romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mille_libri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/gifts).



_a/n Congratulations to_ **_Mille Libre_ ** _who was the 400th reviewer of my on-going epic saga_ **_Andraste's Key_ ** _and was gifted with this one-shot. She provided me with the simple prompt "Krem/Cullen - "Be Brave and Want me back." I am not going to lie. This took me a long time to craft. It came to me in 5-minute spurts sitting at my kitchen table over many months. There were days that I frowned that it was going no where, or for the countless turns that I thought were dead ends. I'm happy to say that I was finally able to pull it together. I hope you like the result!_

 _I also have offer bottomless thanks to both_ **_Oleander's One_ ** _and_ **_Clafount_ ** _for looking at this. Their edits challenged me and brought out the best in the tale I struggled to tell. Thanks so much!_

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Carelessly over the plain away,_ __  
_Where by the boldest man no path_  
_Cut before thee thou canst discern,_  
Make for thyself a path! 

_Silence, loved one, my heart!_ __  
_Cracking, let it not break!_  
Breaking, break not with thee! 

-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

1776.

Cullen squinted and pulled the report closer in order to make sense of the words that had started to blur together in the dimness of his office. There was a sudden flash of light, illuminating the page and returning clarity.

"Sometimes you just need to shed a little light on the situation."

He set the parchment down and straightened in his chair, feeling his fatigued back muscles revolt. "Inquisitor. I wasn't expecting you."

"Of course you weren't." Despite Malika Cadash's stature, her mere presence could fill a room to capacity. She continued without missing a beat. "We're heading west in the morning. I wanted to confirm Scout Harding's report of Venatori activity."

Cullen frantically scanned his cluttered desk, not remembering where he had left it. Lika leaned on the desk.

"Relax, Commander. Just keeping you on your toes. You handed me those reports this morning. I just wanted to say good-bye."

"Oh." He slouched. "Well. Safe travels, as always." He leaned back in his chair and it creaked in response. "Who is going with you?"

"Dorian seemed pretty intent on dealing with the Venatori problem. Blackwall… or Rainier. Are we still calling him Blackwall?"

Cullen hadn't given that detail much thought. Before he could form an opinion, Lika rattled on, speaking as fast as she could swing an axe.

"Whatever. The Inquisition needs to demonstrate a little faith in our Warden-not-Warden. He's ours, so he's in …and…"

"Iron Bull?" The question seemed to pop right out of his mouth. Lika's brow quirked, revealing that she had read something into his statement. Cullen felt his cheeks burn and hoped that the dimmed light of his office would hide it.

" …Varric." She answered slowly.

"Right. Varric. Good team. Solid."

Lika crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. She twisted her mouth in thought, which eventually broke into a crooked smile. "Thought I'd give the Chargers a bit of a break."

Did she know? Was it that obvious? Cullen stood, the chair scraping against the stone floor. With his head down and hands grasped behind his back, he took slow, deliberate steps in a display of thoughtfulness to the other side of his desk. He looked down at Lika. Even though he towered over her, she still intimidated him slightly. Her wide eyes seemed to drill right into the truth.

"I can talk to Bull if you want." Her voice had lost its sarcastic edge.

"Bull?" For a split second, he feared that there was a huge misunderstanding.

"Let him know that the Inquisition has no policy on fraternization with the Chargers."

That was far too much truth for Cullen. He felt exposed.

He retreated back to his chair, picked up a quill and dipped it twice into an inkwell.

"Is that all, Inquisitor? Scout Harding's advance party should have base camp established upon your arrival." He tilted his head up enough to look her in the eye.

"We can talk when I get back." She said, her knowing smile still there.

"Very well."

"Cullen," she sighed, "If you don't lighten up, I'll send Sera after you."

Without thinking, he rolled his eyes.

"There." She nodded once, apparently satisfied with his answer. "You know better than any of us that you don't have to command an army to demonstrate bravery." She saluted and then left without another word.

He dropped the quill and slouched over his desk, burying his head in his arms. Had he just admitted something? He couldn't tell and couldn't remember the last time he felt anything beyond the incessant call of lyrium. It had been only a few weeks since the unremitting itch of withdrawal had abated. And since then, he had barely kept his head above water—only enough to remain functional at his job. If it wasn't for Cassandra and Lika, he would have given in long ago. Now that the fog of withdrawal had finally lifted, there was this other feeling. A stirring in his heart that he had not felt in years. But the Inquisition had forces to command. There was no time for selfish indulgences, despite what the Inquisitor might have thought.

Later that night, Cullen lay in bed, listening to the wind whistle through the slats in the roof. Through a hole in the shingles, he spied a patch of stars and stretched his neck enough to make out the constellation of Judex. Ironic how the symbol of the Templar Order twinkled above him—was it taunting him or just a simple reminder of his past? He took in a relaxing breath, his eyes starting to feel heavy. The sword did not always represent the Chantry, he recalled from his studies as a young initiate in Honnleath. It once stood for justice in Tevinter—a downward-pointed sword in the moments before an execution. Tevinter. His mind drifted again, eddying past Dorian, who possessed all the vanity of a magister, while serving the Inquisition with as much loyalty as Cassandra or Leliana. He wasn't a bad match at chess either. And then at the opposite end of the spectrum was Krem, who demonstrated very little in common with his countryman. Where Dorian was haughty, Krem was unassuming, yet there was a steely confidence just below the surface that was unshakeable. He had heard all the stories—his life before the Chargers. His curiosity quickly gave way to admiration. Here was a man who was sure of himself. He couldn't even say that about himself at times.

Cullen's hands wandered beneath the blankets. He had not felt this relaxed in months—normally his mind would spin madly as he feigned rest. Either he had felt so compelled to revisit each and every task that crossed his desk, or the spectre of lyrium withdrawal whispered lies in his ear, gibing him, assuring him that he was nothing but a failure and in need of another dose. Tonight, there was just the sound of the wind and a clear image of Krem in the training yard. He encouraged his arousal, stroking himself in pace with the half-dream of the young Tevinter bringing down his sword in powerful sweeps, slicing the air and making the steel sing. The scene changed, Cullen's pace quickened, his strokes becoming more forceful and intentional. They were on a river bank, Cullen tracing his hand down Krem's muscular back, across the smooth curves that tapered to his narrow waist and firm ass. A long-drawn-out sigh escaped Cullen's throat. Tonight he'd curl into the embrace of sleep.

**xxxxx**

"Excuse me, Commander Cullen. I'm sorry to disturb you."

Josephine leaned on the door jamb, flipping the leaflets of parchment on her clipboard. Cullen noticed that her candle had gone out—not that it was needed this late in the morning.

"The new recruits have just arrived," she continued. The satin on her shirt caught the morning light in a dazzling display of opulence. Her very presence seemed to elevate the Inquisition's overall appearance. She could decorate a room just by standing in it.

"Recruits?" He flipped through his own stack of documents, panicking that he had forgotten yet another important detail.

"Please Commander. Do not worry yourself. They've arrived unannounced from Orlais. They are deserters from Gaspard's army, and given his recent exile, thought their services might be better appreciated by the Empress in service to the Inquisition."

"I'll get them settled, then." Normally, he'd assign them to one of the sergeants on duty, but given their unexpected arrival, he wanted to see them for himself.

"And you haven't forgotten, then?"

Cullen searched his mind, but found nothing but the jumbled thoughts of a thousand loose threads he had to attend to. "About what specifically, Ambassador?" Then quickly added, "We've discussed a great many things in the last few days." That at least was true.

Josephine rubbed her lips together, her way of trying to hide a smile during intense negotiations. For a second, he hoped that she had not been scheming with Lika. "We have a meeting with Leliana regarding a possible Qunari alliance."

He vaguely recalled the meeting coming across his desk. "Right, of course. Now?"

"Yes Commander. She's waiting in the war room."

"Then send her my apologies for being late. I'll see to the soldiers and be right up."

Cullen dashed down the stone steps, his mind going in a thousand different directions as he headed straight for the barracks. Sgt. Gregson met him at the door with a salute.

"Commander, Ser!"

"Report on the new recruits, Gregson."

"The Orlesian deserters?" he pointed a thumb behind him. They looked nothing like seasoned soldiers. They didn't even have proper gear.

"Has Leliana sent an agent down?"

"Yes, Ser. They are legitimate as far as she is concerned."

Cullen approached the motley assortment of boys and girls, noting that they were hardly old enough to qualify as adults, let alone soldiers. He rubbed the back of his neck which had gone stiff again as he performed his terse inspection. The group stood awkwardly at attention.

"At ease. What's your story?"

"We're from Riel, Ser." The boy spoke with a thick Orlesian accent and a nerve-wracked stammer. "Gaspard conscripted us in exchange for protection for our families. We were with the 2nd Division, Light Infantry."

War was always ugly. He sized them up again, after learning they had been sent to the front lines. They all looked in need of a bath and a few meals. "What sort of training did you receive?"

"Training, Ser?"

A scrawny girl with hair as bright as copper spoke up. "There was no time for training, Ser. We were handed weapons. If it wasn't Celine's troops, it was the Freemen… or demons."

"Light infantry division? You're swordsmen? Archers?"

"A little of both, Ser." The boy looked down at his bare, filthy feet when he spoke.

Cullen picked up a sword from a nearby rack and tossed it to him. The boy missed and the weapon clattered to the ground. His companions nervously stepped back, as if the noise had frightened them.

"You cannot serve the Inquisition if you cannot be honest." Cullen gave them an authoritative glare. He guessed that was all the persuasion they might require. He tried to soften his approach. It did not surprise him that Gaspard would conscript any able body, and most likely mistreat them in the process.

"We were runners, Ser." The girl said. "We supplied the troops with ammunition, food, water… whatever."

"And the rest of you?"

"The same, ser."

Cullen's brow crumpled.

The copper-haired girl spoke up again. "Please don't send us back, Ser. We wish to serve the Inquisition. We're hardworking…"

That wasn't the issue. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. Sending them with Sgt Gregson's troops would only slow everyone's efforts. They needed one-on-one training to begin. Resources and men were stretched as it was.

"I assume you are no stranger to a whetstone?" The group nodded vigorously in unison. "Then you'll sharpen blades until you receive further orders."

The recruits clicked their heels and saluted, their timing still badly off.

The door slammed loudly behind him as he left the barracks. If he had only taken a squire he might have been able to be in two places at once. He rounded the corner to Haven's Rest, quickly concocting a plan.

Bull was at the bar, hunched over deep in conversation with Krem. Cullen swallowed hard, recalling his recent fantasy. A pang of guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach.

"Excuse me. Iron Bull, a word?"

The Qunari slipped off the bar stool, offering a friendly slap to Krem's shoulder and loomed over Cullen.

Cullen's gaze darted toward Krem, careful not to make eye contact. The young mercenary leaned his back against the bar, fingers woven together across his chest.

"I've a favor to ask of you," Cullen straightened himself as he spoke to the colossal Qunari, "Normally, I'd go through the Inquisitor, but she already left for the Wastes this morning."

"How can I help?"

Cullen explained his current conundrum and then requested the Iron Bull's assistance in training the recruits. "Only until they are ready to join Sgt. Gregson's company."

Bull crossed his meaty arms over his equally burly chest, raising the brow over his good eye and gave a deep, rumbling chuckle.

"I am busy. Supposedly meeting you and Red about the latest Ben-Hassreth reports. Plus, I'm no good with rookies. Tend to scare them."

"Right."

"Tell you what. Krem's available." He turned toward his companion. Cullen had to dodge the massive horns that swung perilously close to his head. "Go help out the Commander."

Krem straightened, then replied, "On it, Chief."

"I'll meet you in the War Room in ten." The Qunari stomped away before Cullen could reply.

Cullen cleared the frog that had formed in his throat. Why was he so nervous? He'd given orders to thousands of men before, and most of those orders had consequences that were far more grim than this. This was routine. This should have been easy.

"Yes, Commander?" Krem looked at him, clear-eyed, but otherwise unreadable.

"A group of recruits with no combat experience to speak of have just landed at Skyhold. I need them to get up to speed. But I can't be in two places at once." He scratched his head, feeling like an idiot. He had just explained this to Iron Bull.

"And you want me to train them." Krem replied, finishing Cullen's thought.

Cullen searched the Charger's expression for anything else, a hint perhaps, but came up with nothing.

"Yes. Basic combat training. Swords. Shields. Get them started in archery. Find out their strengths."

"Look forward to it. When do you want a report?"

In that moment, Cullen forgot every single one of his obligations that day. "I'll stop by the training yard later. Anything you need from the quartermaster is yours." He sensed his speech suddenly accelerate, his tongue felt thick and sweat started to drip from the back of his neck down the small of his back. "I appreciate… you."

Krem furrowed his brow and chuckled, then looked down, almost sheepishly. "Ser?"

The sound of his own ridiculous voice echoed in his head. "I appreciate your efforts, I meant. We are terribly short-handed at the moment."

"Right. The recruits will get a flair of the Chargers… soon you'll see them dance on the battlefield."

"Dancing." Cullen blurted. "That would be great."

Cullen didn't think he could feel more mortified.


	2. Chapter Two

** CHAPTER TWO **

Krem almost declared the new recruits untrainable. Not only did the whole lot of them possess two left feet, he swore the first time they had taken up a sword and shield was that morning. He tapped a gaunt blonde boy on the shoulder of his shield arm, reminding him to maintain proper form. He gritted his teeth, feeling an insult brew at the back of his throat and then reminded himself what it was like to be a beginner. He was no hero the first time he picked up a shield, either. And there was no one around to teach him—more like put him in his place and send him back to the parlour to learn needlework.

"Form up!" he barked. They complied, managing to get into a sloppy line. "You." He pointed to a red-haired girl whose face was sprinkled with a generous helping of freckles.

"Ser!" She clicked her heels together as she stood at attention, bringing her pommel up to chin level, just as she had been taught. But when she brought it down in its final flourish, it slipped from her hand and fell into the training sand. " _Excusez messere_." She squatted down and picked it up, trying to mask her fluster. Her form left a little to be desired, but she showed promise.

"Your name, Recruit."

"Ethaine Dandenault, Ser."

Right. Orlesians and their mouthfuls of vowels. This called for a touch of the Chargers.

'From now on, you'll answer to Penny."

"Penny, Ser?" She put extra emphasis on the last syllable. The other recruits bore similar perplexed expressions, but did not dare break their attention. Krem sheathed his sword, feeling that explaining himself would undermine his decision, and perhaps confuse the lot of them. In rapid succession, he renamed each recruit. "Lefty! Slim! Meathead! Bones!" He looked at the last girl, who looked as if she might fall over if Krem blew hard enough, but her expression never changed. "And Stone." He figured that a name like that ought to give her a running start.

"Recruits. At ease." After another awkward clatter of swords, they straightened and resumed their attention. Krem was about to chastise the group, question their intelligence in some joke-shrouded insult, but their behaviour suddenly made sense when Cullen quietly sidled next to him.

Cullen was subtle, but he was actively sizing them up. Each and every one of them—including Krem. "I trust training is going well?" the Commander asked the recruits.

"Ser, yes Ser!" They called in unison, their words both bold and precise. Krem was pleased; they demonstrated that they had learned _something._ Perhaps they were better suited for the Chantry choir.

Krem barked his next order. "Take fifteen. Go get some water. And grab a shield!" The recruits scattered, heading toward the barracks. They were fast. Agile. Built more like rogues than warriors. Based on that, he considered skipping shields altogether and going straight for small arms training with daggers.

Cullen stood with his hands behind his back. "Report—" Krem could tell that he was searching for some rank or title in which to refer to him.

"Call me Krem, Ser. They're learning." He didn't want to seem overly negative. Complaining about their lack of skills would only reflect on his capacity as a trainer. There was no way he was going to seem slack in Commander Cullen's eyes.

"How long before they're ready?"

He wasted no time getting to the crux of the situation. Krem should have known there was no sense in hiding the truth.

"Give them a month, Ser."

"Andraste's mercy." Cullen bowed his head and pressed his palm against his brow. "Maybe I'll just send them to the quartermasters." He sounded resigned.

"Ser, if I might. You know as well as I that you cannot make a seasoned soldier overnight. Or even in a week. But give me the chance and I will have them prepared in a month."

"I admire your tenacity. Your faith in them. But Corypheus could act against us any day. We need soldiers, not charity cases. They should be deployed where they will be of the most use. I can't in good conscience send amateurs…"

That statement smelled strongly of defeat and Krem was having none of it. "Ser, you know the old saying 'extraordinary times require extraordinary measures'?"

Cullen raised a cautious eyebrow, but Krem plowed on. "I'd like to propose an extraordinary measure."

"As in training them to be Chargers?"

"The Chargers aren't recruiting, Ser. Not trying to poach your men. But I am recommending the Iron Bull special."

"I'm all ears."

Krem was about to launch into his scheme when one of Leliana's agents ran up to Cullen.

"Ser, Sister Leliana wishes to summons you to the Rookery. Says it's of the utmost urgency. Report from the Inquisitor in the field."

"Very well." He turned to Krem. "Come by my office this evening, Krem. Feel free to get started on this… training… I doubt you'll get very far with it today, anyway."

Krem saluted, his plan percolating.

** xxxxxx **

Krem was nursing an ale in front of the fire in the lower bailey. He was tired for a change and grateful for it. Sitting around, waiting for a job, was not something that he particularly enjoyed. Bull's decision to support the Inquisition brought some work, but not enough. While he did not disagree with the Chief's decision in principle, he hated being stuck in the Hold. He preferred the open road and the journeys between jobs. At the very least, this tasking kept the monotony at bay.

He looked up at the tower. The light was still out.

"You've been staring up at that window an awful long time, Aclassi." Dalish kicked a crate closer to the fire and sat down, while balancing an ale and her bow. It was really a mage's staff, but she preferred to call it something else. Krem understood the power in words, so he never argued with her.

"I've got to meet with the Commander. Just waiting for him to return to his office."

Dalish's eyes twinkled, as if they were sharing a secret.

"He's in the garden. Just came from there—tending to the elfroot for Stitches, when I saw him wander in." She nudged him with an elbow and gave him a wink. Krem stood, giving the elf a disapproving scowl.

"I've got business to discuss."

"Aye, is that what you call it… and I know a thing or two about denial, Krem."

He emptied his ale and placed the empty tankard a little too forcefully in the spot where he had been sitting.

"I've no idea what you are talking about."

"Do I need to spell it out for you? Oh that's right… spelling ain't your thing."

Krem walked away before she could taunt him any further. As he wove his way through the lower bailey to Skyhold's main tower, he tried to shake off Dalish's joke. If the Chargers had a matchmaker, it was her. After having rebuffed her advances, she tried to pair him up with every other member of the group—even Iron Bull. But the Chargers were like siblings to him and they were the first to accept him as the person he truly was—with no questions asked. He took his job seriously, so seriously that he had forgotten what it was like to feel anything other than the platonic bonds of being a Charger. Things were so complicated back in Tevinter that it was best to avoid those situations, anyway.

With a deep breath, he opened the door to the garden. For the first time since he had joined the Chargers, Krem felt unsure of himself.

The garden was quiet at this time of night. He wandered the perimeter, brushing his hand lightly over the flowers that grew tall along the edges, wondering if he had missed the Commander. The flickering of a candle from a room off the portico caught his attention.

He stopped at the doorway of the makeshift chapel.

There was Cullen, kneeling, head bowed and eyes closed. The light danced over his kneeling form. His devotion was fierce, but there was also an undercurrent of vulnerability there too. Krem knew nothing about religion, other than what he escaped back North, and knew even less of this Andraste character. But in that moment, Krem sensed a deep rooted certainty, as sure as his own sense of self and place in this world, within the praying soldier in front of him. There was something comforting, definitely handsome, but distinctly brave about what he saw. Perhaps Dalish wasn't so full of shit after all.

** xxxxxx **

A candle flickered, signalling to Cullen that he was no longer alone. He ended his prayer, then looked up at the looming figure of the risen Andraste. Her serene gaze seemed to see right through his very soul, unjudging. Maybe it was just the play of light and shadow in the small make-shift chapel, but tonight she even seemed encouraging.

He got up and turned, surprised to find Krem standing there. He seemed so out of place.

Krem took a step back, bowing his head. "I've come at a bad time." His voice seemed unusually small. The bravado was missing. Why was that?

"Not at all. A prayer can be as little or as long as required, but should never interfere with one's duties." He clapped Krem on the shoulder, in a gesture he hoped would be construed as completely platonic, despite it sending tantalizing shivers down his spine. "Care to join me? It's too nice of an evening to sit in a stuffy office." He pointed to one of the stone benches against Skyhold's exterior wall. Krem obliged, hunching over, leaning his forearms on top of his legs. Cullen couldn't tell whether the brief touch had registered any response.

Cullen made sure he did not sit too close. He was all too aware of his position and Mother Giselle's keen eye. She was quietly tending to some elfroot at the far end of the garden, no doubt aware of the Commander and the Tevinter Charger's presence. Cullen stretched out his legs and took in the sweet smell of Prophet's Laurel that grew nearby.

The silence stretched on. It did not feel awkward—yet, but he broke it before it could get there. "Are you religious, Krem?"

"Me?" he winced at the question, and Cullen immediately regretted asking it. So much for small talk.

As Krem stared out at the courtyard, Cullen admired his profile—the hard angles of his cheeks, his Tevinter nose, and his neatly greased hair with the distinctive northern shine.

"All that nonsense in Tevinter. Suits all the Magisters but leaves us soporati on the fringes. Never liked how things were so black and white. When I joined the Chargers, Bull told me about the ways of the Qun. Seemed like more mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me. But Bull is cool whether we give offerings to the Creators, honour the Paragons, pray to Andraste or whether we believe in nothing at all. So long as we do our job, he's fine with that. And to be honest, since I joined, I haven't given the matter a whole lot of thought."

"Are the soporati religious at all?" Cullen wondered out loud.

"For sure. If there is a ladder, someone will always try and climb out of their own shithole. Can't get too high without magic. But that never stopped a well-intended social climber."

Krem sat up, but his shoulders seemed to bear some unspoken weight. It was the first time Cullen had seen him lose his impeccable posture.

"Tell me about leaving Tevinter." Cullen watched carefully. Krem didn't even flinch—he must have been used to telling that story.

"My folks were well meaning. Wanted me to find a good husband, from a decent but relatively well-connected merchant family… one with magic in the bloodline, of course. Any chance to increase their chances of having a mage in the family… But all I wanted to do was wield a sword and join the army. Course, I did eventually, but serving as a Requisition Officer wasn't exactly my idea of a career. So I faked my papers and joined the Imperial Guard. Women can't serve on the Guard. Used my salary to bribe the healer to keep lying on my reports. For a while there, it worked out for me. But, eventually I was found out. The healer got called away one day and a replacement was called in to perform the physicals.

"The punishment for lying on one's service application is slavery—or death. He called me sick in the head—so I knocked him out. Left town. Then I discovered this tavern on the border near Trevis, where people could hang out and be who they wanted to be and no one judged. You know… men with other men, women with women… that sort of establishment. Eventually, the Imperial Guard came for me. If it wasn't for the Iron Bull, I'd be dead. So I guess I've got someone to thank for that. If I were religious, I'd say the Maker handed me the wrong parts when I was born. But that sort of thinking contradicts everything you hear about the Maker. He doesn't make mistakes, does he? So, that's why I am not religious." He gave his characteristic smirk and leaned back, placing his hand next to Cullen's thigh. Cullen noticed how rugged and dirty it was. His palm was wrapped with a dirty bandage. Before reason could take over, Cullen placed his on top, a brief sensation of warmth in the cool evening air.

Krem shifted and pulled away, shattering what little confidence Cullen might have had. Krem stood, his awkwardness clear, then crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

"So. My report."

Cullen had never developed feelings toward someone under his Command and still wondered whether Krem counted. His nerve resurfaced. "My apologies. I won't let it happen again. Come to my office in the morning and we can discuss the recruits."

Krem dropped his head. "Look. I'm flattered. Really. It's just—"

Cullen held up a hand to interrupt. "You need no reason." He stood. "I'll expect a full report after breakfast."

With a nod and a forced smile, he left the garden, his cheeks hot with embarrassment, his heart heavy.


	3. Chapter Three

** CHAPTER THREE **

Krem swung his sword overhead in a powerful, sweeping arc. The sheer force of the blunted practice blade knocked the training dummy right off its pedestal and sent it bouncing off the back wall of the quartermasters'.

"Now that's what I am talking about!" a familiar laugh boomed from behind. The Iron Bull collected the dummy and set it back into place, although it looked quite defeated and lopsided. Ordinarily, this would rouse a feeling of intense satisfaction, but Krem had yet to completely purge his frustrations. Bull stood in front, imposing as always, hands on his hips. "I've talked a keg out of Cabot. Get in there before Grim starts double fisting it." He was pointing to Haven's Rest.

Krem returned the training sword to its rack.

"Naw. I'm good. Think I'll turn in early."

It should have come as no surprise to Krem that Iron Bull refused to accept that answer. His good eye narrowed as he studied Krem in the moonlit practice yard.

"You sick?"

"No Chief, I'm perfectly fine." He spoke in an upbeat timbre, unsure whether Bull would be able to see through the act.

"New recruits getting to you?"

Krem knew that Iron Bull wouldn't let the issue go. "Recruits are fine, Chief." He unbuckled his chest plate and pulled it off along with his gambeson, glad to feel the coolness of the evening air waft through his cotton tunic. Self-consciously, he pulled it straight, then combed back his hair. When he looked up, he found that Bull was giving him a long, hard look. He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Eyes to eye, _Krem de la creme_."

There was nothing more uncomfortable than a Qunari-induced guilt trip. Krem's deflection felt like a betrayal. But he was unaccustomed to having personal shit and he wasn't sure whether he should broach the issue with his boss.

When Bull turned toward the Rest, Krem blurted out, "It's personal, Chief. Won't get in the way. Promise."

Bull stopped in his tracks. His massive back muscles flexed before he turned back to Krem. His expression less hard this time. "I look after my Chargers. That's the full package. You want to whack that dummy a few more times and spill it?" He marched over to the weapons rack and pulled out a training sword, wielded it menacingly for a second and then handed it over to Krem, handle first. Even with a blunt blade and the propriety of an Orlesian noble, he still had the ability to intimidate Krem. "Come on!" He growled, "Armour-free this time. Get your full range of movement in!"

They took turns beating the dummy, Bull encouraging harder swings, while Krem huffed broken words that summed up his most recent meeting with Cullen. He knew there were ears everywhere so he went heavy on the innuendo, avoiding any discussions on his feelings.

"And what's your conclusion, Krem?"

"That's the problem, Chief. My head says no… but there is another part of me…"

Bull chortled. "That part should never make any decisions. Usually gets you into all kinds of trouble."

Krem just gave him a flat look. That's not what he meant—he was just too embarrassed to admit that he had developed feelings. Although, he did concede that the feelings Bull alluded to were most definitely at play.

As the Ben-Hassrath spy listened, he kept any opinion he might have been forming strictly to himself. His face was impervious to any interior reflection.

Krem took the last swing, feeling a little more relaxed than he had when he had started.

"Good form, Krem!" Sweat now glistened on Bull's pectorals and he patted Krem on the shoulder. "You do what you've gotta do, Krem. I've got your back. As do the rest of the Chargers. You know, I don't make many rules, as long as you can do your job, the rest is your own business."

Krem nearly let a sigh of relief escape.

"But…" Iron Bull intonated. "The Commander gives orders. Sometimes to us. That Seeker will certainly be suspicious of your association with the likes of a Qunari, and Red's not going to like an employee associated with the Ben-Hassrath messing with one of her people. Commander Cullen needs us for the hard jobs. You don't want to make that harder. War is hard enough, Krem."

"Yes, Chief." There was little doubt that disappointment was painted all over his face. His uncertainty now gave way to disappointment. For the first time, he didn't have to hide and was free from the prison that was Tevinter. Leave it to him to choose the one who was out of reach. Typical. Although he wasn't feeling particularly social, and the thought of singing tavern songs with the Chargers made him want to throw axes at windows, a great deal of ale might make the pain go away. For now.

** xxxxxx **

Cullen had not realized the time until Cassandra strode into the office. She tramped in, with as much levity as she was capable, her boots clicking on the stone. He had been reviewing supply inventories, juggling what little resources were available with the ever demanding needs of the growing Inquisition. There were a couple of details that he needed from Leliana before he was comfortable finalizing his decision. Supply chain management never failed to induce a headache.

"Cullen. It's nearly lunch. I thought you could use the company."

"Lunch?" He rubbed his forehead, setting the quill back in the well. "Where has the morning gone?"

"Apparently, you've become a top notch administrator." She crossed her arms and mustered a steely grin. "Have you seen that mercenary of The Iron Bull's that you've put in charge of the recruits?"

His stomach lurched a little at her mention of him. "Yes… they are training in the yard as we speak…" He waited for the other shoe to drop.

Cassandra grunted. "Is that what they are calling it? Training? What exactly are they training for?"

Cullen rose from his seat. "Basic training."

"I see. Apparently, I am unfamiliar with the methods these Chargers employ."

"He did mention trying something unconventional. They were a bit too green even for basic training…" He made for the door nearest the battlement that would offer the best view of the training yard. "Not too disruptive, I hope."

"See for yourself Commander." She followed him out. "No weapons."

Cullen creased his brow, rubbing the kink that threatened to form at the back of his neck. He leaned against the stone ramparts, looking down into the lower bailey. Even at this height, he could hear Krem barking out commands to the recruits. That seemed quite in line with his expectations. What didn't were the recruits. Instead of sparring, they were running at full speed over hay bales, crawling on their bellies through the mud, beneath obstacles that appeared to be set on fire. They also climbed up a crumbled wall, over a neglected roof and down again.

His curiosity gave way to annoyance. "What the…? I'll get to the bottom of this!"

There was a mixture of trepidation, embarrassment and just plain curiosity that rippled through him as he wound his way down the great stone stairway to the lower bailey. He reached the bottom, relieved upon realizing that Cassandra had not followed. The relief was quickly lost in the storm of other emotions that percolated just below the surface. As soon as he passed under the arch, Krem pulled to attention, thus signalling to the recruits to do the same.

Cullen nodded in lieu of standing them at ease. Krem widened his stance and relaxed his shoulders. There was nothing to read in his expression, which came as little comfort to Cullen.

"Report."

Krem crossed his arms over his chest. "Commander Cullen." It was the first time he used that formality with him, and strangely, Cullen did not like it. "Meet the Inquisition's 1st Company of Sappers. Well, we're a few soldiers short of a company, but no use showing a weak hand. You should come up with a name—they'll become notorious by reputation alone."

Cullen looked over at the recruits, who had not moved, wondering whether Krem had stated this in jest. "What do they know of explosives?" He hoped they were better at incendiaries than they were with conventional weapons.

"I've hooked them up with Rocky."

"And will this Rocky character be supplying explosives to the Inquisition?"

Krem looked down at his feet and kicked the dirt. "Surely the Inquisition has its own supply lines. I have the recipe. Just need the materials. _The Qunari Special_ the Chargers like to call it."

"Gaatlok?" Cullen asked, suddenly excited at the prospect of this arrangement.

"Oy. Bull doesn't even know the recipe for gaatlok. This has a little Antivan Fire and a lot of muscle from Orzammar. Bull specifies the proportions, which makes me think that he does know the recipe for gaatlok, but is holding out on us. But still, we need a lot of blood lotus and lyrium sand. And as you know, you need the right kind of greasing to get lyrium sand from Orzammar."

A new headache nagged Cullen's temples. He resisted rubbing them, not wanting to signal that Krem's solution, although brilliant in its inception, created a cascade of new problems.

"Carry on then." He looked over at the recruits, "Resume… your training." He turned and headed for the archway, toward the long stone stairway that lead back to the Keep. By the time he had arrived at the upper courtyard, he heard Krem calling after him.

"Is there a problem, Commander?"

Cullen exhaled, then turned. "Please. It's Cullen. You're not in my chain of command. Not directly anyway."

"Fine. Is there a problem, Cullen?"

"Not at all. It's a creative solution to a difficult problem. The Inquisition needs people like you. And for that matter, we need these Sappers too. You know how many stone walls need breeching in Thedas?"

It was the first time Krem betrayed any emotion. The worry that creased his brow suddenly relaxed.

"So you'll supply them with the materials they need? I can send up Rocky. He might have a couple leads."

Cullen waved a hand dismissively. "That won't be necessary."

"The Sappers will need some live fire training exercises."

Stress clenched the back of his neck again. "Understood. I'll study the local maps and see if I can find an appropriate location. Understand that this might take some time. Establishing new supply lines always takes time. And money."

Krem appeared deflated. "They'll really be chomping at the bit at that point. It'll give me plenty of time to hone their skills in the meantime." Then he surveyed the courtyard, appearing cagey and nervous.

"Speak." Cullen said. Krem straightened then continued scanning the courtyard, his eyes never landing on Cullen's.

"Nothing, Ser."

"I'll let you get back to your troops then. Send up a list and I will see that the supplies are requisitioned." Cullen bowed his head and offered a quick salute, which lacked the formality the moment required, and headed for the stairs, feeling utterly defeated.

** xxxxxx **

A couple evenings later, Krem finally found his nerve again. He had a plan. The moment that the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull disappeared into Skyhold's keep, he made his way up the steep steps nearest the stables. It would be an indirect, more discreet route. At first, he took them two at a time, but eventually slowed his pace—not because he was tired, but rather because his thoughts had taken over. The Chief's warning was still fresh in his mind. Although it wasn't a direct order, it was the first time that he did not wholeheartedly agree with him, and this occasion marked the first time that he would go against Bull's advice. He didn't like it, but he found himself rationalizing his decision.

Everyone was talking about the Chief and the Inquisitor. Krem had yet to see any evidence himself, but if the rumours were true, how was that situation any different from his attraction to Cullen? Maybe Bull had some intel on the Commander, knew some dirty bit on his past that he wanted to protect Krem from. But Bull himself had taught Krem to trust his gut. And after years of honing that sense, he was pretty sure he would have been able to pick up on anything suspicious. He hadn't. Apart from being on edge, Cullen didn't seem the sort to bear any dark and deep surprises. Sure, everyone spoke about him leaving the Templar Order and what that entailed, but Krem seemed quite sure that Leliana would not have recruited him as Commander of the Inquisition's Armies if he was hiding a scandalous past. Talk around Skyhold was plentiful—in fact it was the second most popular off-duty activity next to drinking Cabot's ale at the Rest—and no one had a bad thing to say about the Commander. Krem arrived at the top of the battlements and walked across to Cullen's office, letting his fingers skim over the rough stone.

Before he knocked on the door, he paused and collected his thoughts again.

After three solid raps of his knuckles, he stood, nervously waiting, gathering his nerves.

On the other side of the thick wooden door he could hear Cullen usher him in. He sounded distracted.

Krem stuck his head in. "Got a minute? I got the supply list for the explosives. Also, Rocky has suggested some abandoned quarries where we might be able to go practice. But if you're busy, I can come back later."

A candle burned low on Cullen's desk, scrolls and parchment were strewn over the surface, and some had fallen to the floor. The Commander held up a piece toward the window and read before pulling his eyes away. "Stay. It's always like this." He tossed the report onto his desk a little too forcefully. It floated to the floor, just in front of Krem's boot.

Krem picked it up and offered it back. Cullen was now preoccupied with another.

"Just put it with the rest of the field reports."

"Which one?"

Cullen looked up, his eyes weary. Recognition seemed to dawn on him and he straightened in his seat. "Krem. My apologies." He smiled warmly and stood, stretching his arms and shoulders.

Krem placed both sheets in the centre of Cullen's desk, fearing his would eventually get lost in the shuffle. "Supply list and demolition locations."

"Right." He leaned on the window sill and stared outside. "I never realized that paper pushing could be as exhausting as combat."

"How can you stand it? Sitting in here cooped up all day?"

"I can't. Come. Let's walk outside."

The wind was high. The Inquisition flag snapped overhead. Cullen leaned against the wall, the fur on his mantle stood on end, his arms crossed over his chest plate. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. Then opened them, wide. "Should have done that hours ago. What was I thinking… keeping myself chained at my desk all afternoon?"

"You take your responsibilities seriously." Now he was feeling like an idiot. He was not prepared for small talk. He was running out of things to say and stupidly had not planned any conversations starters in advance.

"When I agreed to help Leliana, the last thing I imagined would be sitting at a desk reading field reports all day. My commanding officer once warned me of the perils of rank. I thought he was talking about strategy and tactics on the battlefield… not paperwork…" He chuckled.

It suddenly occurred to Krem that the moment he was waiting for would probably never present itself. Either that, or he had no idea what he was looking for. But he had to know. He wasn't going to heed Bull's warning unless he knew for sure. He leapt forward, pressing both palms on Cullen's cheeks, feeling the graze of stubble, like it was a zing of electricity and then pressed his lips on the Commander's. Krem could feel Cullen jolt and stiffen in utter surprise, his lips frozen in shock. Krem released, just barely enough to graze his lips and feel the delicious tickle of barely grown moustache. That alone sent a shiver of pleasure down Krem's spine. To Krem's utter surprise, Cullen relaxed and responded with equal fervor, deepening the kiss, and pulling him in closer. At the moment his doubt washed away and pleasure took over, Krem broke apart.

Bull was right. This was dangerous.

He stammered. "I'm s... sorry… I shouldn't have done that." And then he turned to run down the stone steps.

Cullen was exactly what he wanted.


	4. Chapter Four

** CHAPTER FOUR **

Silence hung thick in Skyhold's main hall. Even though it was filled to capacity, there wasn't a murmur nor whisper to be heard. Lika sat at the front, at the edge of an ornate Orlesian throne, deep in thought. Cullen stood nearest the door that led to the war room, and watched Lord Erimond shift uncomfortably as he awaited Lika's judgement. His eyes scanned the hall, past the statuary and banquet table, finally able to catch a glimpse of the Chargers at the far end. Krem had made himself scarce in the days since he had visited him in his office and Cullen wasn't sure what to make of that. He certainly wanted it to happen, but what had he done to make Krem run away? Was he a bad kisser? A deep shame fell upon him. Here is was, awaiting the judgement of the Magister who had brought so much harm to the Grey Wardens as well as to members of the Inquisition. How many fine men had he lost at Adamant? They had even lost Hawke because of him. And here he was thinking about kissing. The memory had haunted him since it happened. He was hoping to make eye contact with Krem, receive some signal that these feelings were mutual.

"Since death is a validation for you…" Lika's voice echoed through the hall, clear and edged with contempt.

At that moment, Cullen made eye contact with him. But no sooner than it happened, Krem directed his attention back the Inquisitor. There was nothing to read in that look. Maybe it happened by sheer accident. Maybe he didn't even notice Cullen at all.

"Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, you'll spend the rest of your days in the deepest, darkest hole we can find."

Cullen suddenly hated the idea of having the Tevinter stewing in Skyhold's jail. He would have preferred sending him away with the Wardens, which is the idea he had tried to plant in Lika's mind earlier that morning. Tranquility was also an option, but no one on the War Council dared mention that—especially not after what had happened to Hawke and all that she had been through in Kirkwall. He suddenly became aware that the tension in the hall had broken and everyone was discussing her decision in the low rumble of collective murmurs. Cullen looked at Krem again. His arms were crossed over his chest and was speaking into the Dalish charger's ear. Cullen couldn't catch his attention again, not without drawing the attention of the entire hall.

After the guards lead Erimond away, the large gathering started to disperse. Cullen heard Josephine calling after him, but he pretended not to hear as he made his way down the long expanse of carpet. He had to know. Just as he maneuvered past the soldiers and other members of the Inquisition exiting the hall, Krem turned and left as well. There was no way Cullen was going to call out for Krem. Luckily, the elf had seen Cullen approach and elbowed Krem. With a subtle wave Cullen beckoned him over, his stomach in knots.

Krem's expression was unreadable as stone. There was no recognition, no anger, no regret, no sadness nor anything that Cullen might grasp and hold onto with hopefulness. It wasn't a rude, sort of look—just the clear eyed expression of a soldier ready for his next order.

"The Sappers will return from their mission in the morning." Cullen stammered.

Krem nodded once in acknowledgement. Cullen wanted to say something more, but not sure what. There were too many people.

"They'll be in good hands with Sgt Gregson now." Krem said. "I think my job is done."

That was it? That was all the goodbyes he was afforded? Surely there was another task that Cullen could find.

"The Inquisition thanks you for your service." Cullen wanted to punch himself for blurting out the most impersonal statement he could muster. Before he could reformulate his thoughts, and actually tell the Charger how deeply he appreciated his efforts, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Josephine. "Excuse me Commander. I apologize for my interruption, but the Inquisitor wishes to speak with you in the war room."

Krem bowed his head respectfully and left.

"Yes, right away, Ambassador."

Cullen's duties quickly consumed the rest of his day. But even though his mind was occupied, there was a sadness in his heart he could not shake.

** xxxxxx **

Krem signalled for another ale, pushing his empty tankard toward the barkeep with a flick of his finger. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Inquisitor deep in conversation with the Chief. The difference in their heights was striking, almost comical, but Krem had seen first-hand that Lika was as strong—if not stronger—than a human at least twice her height. He had watched her spar in the courtyard from time to time, even volunteered as a partner once or twice, and admired how she often used her height to her advantage. It was easy to make assumptions with her—assumptions that would invariably, and quite literally, be crushed. Once, she barrelled into the Chief's knees with the force of a charging druffalo, setting him off-balance enough for Lika to point a sword at his kidney, forcing the Qunari to capitulate and surrender. Whatever they were discussing now must have been serious Inquisition business. Both of their expressions were pinched with concern. They spoke barely above a whisper and their foreheads nearly touched. The longer Krem thought on it, the more the conversation looked intimate.

He took a long pull from the fresh draught and leaned against the bar, enjoying Maryden's rendition of _Once We Were._ Despite his relaxed demeanour, his quiet contemplation was fraught. Cullen. The Commander continued to haunt his thoughts, even when Krem vowed never to think of him—in that way—again. And there were plenty of moments when his daydreams wandered in that direction as of late. Just when Krem thought he had made progress, he'd catch the Commander in the fringes of his vision—leaning on the ramparts or making his daily rounds to the quartermaster. There was even that one time that Krem broke his focus during a training session with the Sappers, to swing around, only to realize that he had spied a trader with a backpack laden with furs. Even earlier that day, after the judgement, he wanted to say something. But Ambassador Montilyet's appearance seemed to confirm that he was nothing more than an unnecessary distraction for the Commander. He'd win no favours from the Inquisition's advisors if he prevented the Commander from completing his duties. Bull was right—though he despised having to admit that. This was the one battle that Krem could not win.

The situation conspired in such a way as to make both his yearning and forgetting utterly impossible. He wanted to move on. Easier said than done.

"Cabot! Another Ale… Krem, you need another?"

Lika snapped him out of his reverie. Krem looked down to see he had yet to finish what he had, and politely declined. Somewhat ashamed of his negligence, he pulled to a salute, nodding respectfully to the dwarf.

"Relax. Bull tells me you've got the night off." She patted the barstool. "Sit, so at least we are the same height."

Krem complied and offered the Inquisitor's tankard a friendly clang.

"I wanted to thank you personally," she said. Krem quirked an eyebrow, not entirely sure what he had done to earn her gratitude. "Cullen speaks very highly of your recent efforts with the recruits. A company of sappers! Cullen says you're a brilliant strategist..."

Krem pinked at the comment, but tried to pass it off as modesty. Lika, more perceptive than a hound, tipped her head ever so slightly, her eyes twinkling in the lantern-light, then continued. "I happen to agree with him. But the Commander says you are done? Is this true?"

"I could help them with their swordsmanship. Can't have a company of sappers who cannot at least defend themselves. But they haven't taken to that as well as they have with demolitions."

"I like that idea. But in the meantime, maybe you can butter up Bull and get the instructions for gaatlok?"

"That would require a lot of butter, Inquisitor."

Lika laughed merrily, then quirked an eyebrow over her shoulder at Bull. "On second thought… I have my ways. You heard what the sappers did on the Exalted Plains? They opened up a passage to an area that has contributed significantly to the Inquisition."

Only a week ago, he had volunteered the sappers under the Inquisition's command. Scout Harding assured Krem that she'd keep an extra eye on them, but that proved unnecessary. They served ably and got through a wall of bedrock in record time.

"Even bagged a Gamordan Stormrider, I hear."

Lika's expression betrayed how difficult that battle had been. But Bull was more than thrilled—not to mention proud—of Lika's work.

"Wouldn't have happened had the sappers not granted me access. It was your idea to send them, and all your extra training. Take the credit." With a friendly jab with her elbow, she slid off the barstool and cocked her head. "Come, follow me." Then she offered Bull a flirtatious wave and Krem could swear she had blown the Chief a kiss. But maybe that was the ale.

Lika wandered to the gardens, sitting amongst a prized crop of felandaris. It wasn't the most beautiful plant in the garden. In fact, it appeared more aggressive than beautiful, but Lika had discovered a number of deadly uses for it.

"Sit, Krem. You're making me nervous."

He sat on the cold stone bench, rubbed the tops of his thighs to remove the excess sweat that had suddenly accumulated in his palms. He noticed that the chapel was markedly empty.

"So. Bull has been talking to me."

Krem's stomach sunk to his knees. He hunched over, weaving his fingers together, hoping to hide the burning flare in his cheeks. "About?" he hoped his voice suggested ignorance on the subject.

Lika gave a husky chuckle. "You and Cullen. Can't play stupid with me, Krem."

"Must have been a short conversation as there isn't much to discuss. The Chief and I have already talked about it. And if he is still worried, you can tell him he's got nothing to worry about. I can tell him myself if you like."

"Bull hasn't accused you of anything, so relax. He was more concerned than anything. Concerned about politics, optics… concerned about you."

Krem continued to stare out into the courtyard, his insides writhing with the awkwardness of the situation. "Then tell him that he's got nothing to be worried about."

"That's just it, Krem. While you're under my employ—and let's be very clear, you're on my payroll—who you wish to associate with, in your free time is completely your business. Bull is wrong. He told me how he advised you."

"But he's my boss."

"Yes." She tilted her head in thought for a moment, but then an idea lit her face. "And I'm his. Which in this case, I get the final say. Are you part of the Qun?"

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. "Who, me? No." His response sounded like he was on the defensive, although he had not intended for it to sound like that.

"Is Bull pressuring you to join?"

"Of course not. He's not like that. What Bull believes in is his business, what we believe is ours. He's always been clear on that."

"I think we need to give the Inquisition a bit more credit..."

"Ser?"

"My people are quite clear on the differences between The Iron Bull and Cremisius Aclassi. In other words, what Krem chooses to pursue, or better yet _whom_ Krem chooses to pursue will never be mistaken as some infiltration strategy."

Krem wasn't sure how to respond to that. Lika rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe I need to spell it out a little clearer. If the Inquisition is okay with me and Bull… then there is no reason to worry about Krem and—"

He cut her off before he could say Cullen's name. "I see your point."

"I've already made this point to Bull, so you are free to… never mind. This is your business, and I am not trying to pry. Truly."

"I appreciate it, Inquisitor. But in all honesty, I think that ship has already sailed." Krem allowed the regret to flavour his tone.

Lika placed a hand on his knee. "That's just the thing. I may or may not have had a similar discussion with Cullen earlier this evening. That ship is certainly still in port."

She got up, straightening her tunic. "I've got some business to attend to, which may or may not involve your boss." She looked over her shoulder. "Oh look, if it isn't Commander Cullen." She winked at Krem. "Right on schedule."

** xxxxxx **

The moon was high in the sky, clear and brilliant. Skyhold lifted everyone that much closer to the stars, allowing them to shine that much brighter in the crisp, mountain air. Krem had joined Cullen on the battlements, in one of the quieter corners, cloaked in shadow and solitude. From below, echoes of the Inquisition could be heard—a distant caw from the rookery, a burst of laughter from someone leaving Haven's Rest, the muffled chatter of the merchants closing shop for the night and the distant clank of Harritt in the undercroft. Krem had his back against the cold, hard stone, his feet crossed in front of him. Cullen leaned on his elbows and stared out into the darkness. After spending an hour in intense discussion, the men had paused and allowed a moment of silence to stretch between them. The last time Krem had felt this contented was when he had first joined the Chargers. For almost an hour he had spoken at length about growing up in Tevinter, about his former life and how meeting Bull had changed everything. He heard Cullen's harrowing tales of the Ferelden Circle, life under Meredith's command and his recent battle with lyrium withdrawal. It wasn't as if they had already run out of things to speak of—in fact it was quite the opposite. Krem couldn't wait to learn more—about Cullen's family, his friends. The silence seemed a way to allow him to savour that moment.

"It's just so beautiful here. We often overlook it… being that we're at war. At times it's hard to see," Cullen said, his breath carrying puffs of frosty air.

Krem turned so he could mirror Cullen, and scanned the grandeur of the Frostbacks. "Politics. Makes everything so complicated." He looked at Cullen, admiring his handsome profile, and the scar that marked the corner of his mouth, now better appreciating how he had gotten it.

The corners of the Commander's eyes crinkled with kindness. "Politics has been known to benefit a few of us from time to time." He shifted a little closer, they were barely touching now. Contentedness had given way to nervousness.

Unlike matters of war, Krem had little experience with matters of the heart. If he could only be as eloquent with his words as he was with his sword. He wasn't sure there were words that could do justice to the way he was feeling at that moment, and knew that trying would somehow measure less than he had intended. Instead, he reached over and with a finger, lightly touched the scar. At first, Cullen flinched, a natural reaction more like, but then smiled crookedly. And as quick as a burst of veilfire, his hand reached behind Krem's head and pulled him into a hard, lasting kiss. Krem pressed hard against the Commander, his gut reaction to devour the man he had yearned for so intensely, and then slowed down. He savored the sensation, the feel of stubble against the smoothness of his cheek. The kiss deepened and the sound of groans formed in both their throats.

Then came the unexpected sound of a clearing throat. Krem pulled away first, never one to let his guard down completely.

Cullen stood, but kept a hand on Krem's shoulder. The gesture spoke volumes; there was no shame or regret in what had just happened.

"My apologies Commander. I've come to deliver a message." The young soldier was visibly uncomfortable.

"Never a dull moment." Cullen winked.

"A message for the Charger, ser. The Iron Bull needs to see you immediately." She didn't even wait for a reply, but instead disappeared into the shadows on Skyhold's battlements.

Krem paused for a moment and took a quick intake of air. He noticed his hands tremble slightly. Such a summons was always serious. He took Cullen's hand and squeezed it.

"At another time."

Cullen's smile was warm. "Duty calls."

Krem turned and dashed into the shadows, all the way down the stone steps, for a moment not in the least concerned about the message, with a wide grin stretched across his face.

** xxxxxxx **

The sky was grey and the clouds hung heavy, threatening snow. Cullen knew this was the day. Lika had been up earlier and handed over the report detailing the Ben-Hassrath's alliance with the Inquisition. Cullen was wary of any deal to be made with the Qunari, but Lika seemed more concerned about allowing the Venatori to gain a foothold in the south, and felt it necessary to forge this alliance in order to prevent that. Cullen wondered, for only a split second, whether her relationship with Bull had any bearing on the situation. After the thought had crossed his mind, he chastised himself for giving it form. He trusted Lika's judgement. Her position with the Inquisition was as much earned through her hard work and sound decisions, as it was serendipity. And besides, he'd never forget what she had done for him. Both Cassandra and Leliana no longer felt compelled to offer terse warnings of undue Tevinter or Qunari influence on the Inquisition, and everyone for the most part, seemed to leave him in peace. All except for Varric. He seemed to enjoy the occasional ribbing, especially when he was losing at cards.

The horses nickered as he approached. A stable boy finished securing the harness of the Frostback elk that Lika favoured. He reminded her of home, she once said.

"Should be warmer on the Storm Coast," Cullen said. Lika was stroking the elk's shaggy mane with affection.

"Coming to see me off, Commander? You haven't done that since Haven!" She winked. Her cheeks were bright with cold. Cullen could hear Bull in the distance ordering the Chargers, ensuring everything was packed and secured. He was sure Bull knew that Scout Harding had the bulk of the provisions, and had been sent two days prior as the advance party.

"Maker guide you, Inquisitor." Cullen offered. It was difficult to know the right thing to say to an atheist. He always defaulted to the standard, as it was always heartfelt.

Lika patted him on the back. "Save all the sappy goodbyes for that one over there." She looked over at Krem who was having a good laugh with the other Chargers. With little effort, she mounted the elk and dug in her heels with a "hyah!"

"Raise the gate!" she hollered, her voice echoing triumphantly against Skyhold's stone.

Cullen wandered to the back of the caravan. Krem hung back as well.

"Didn't expect you to be a part of the away party, Commander," Krem said with a crooked grin.

"I had a busy night." The comment caught Krem by surprise, even elicited a bit of a blush.

Cullen took Krem by both broad shoulders and pressed his forehead against his lover's.

"Be brave." Cullen whispered.

"Want me back." Krem replied.

Cullen smiled. That was the only reply necessary. Krem offered a bashful grin in response and after a long look, dashed off to catch up with the rest of the Chargers.

** -THE END- **


End file.
